Day in the story: 6th October (Monday)
“Is that you, Alexa?” Dam asked, his voice heavy with sleep. I’d called him first thing in the morning, I needed answers.
“Yes, it’s . I’m sorry for calling this early, but I just need to know.”
“It doesn’t matter. Tell what’s going on,” he said.
Was that how a caring father behaved? Or was it just an act?
“I spent the entire Sunday afternoon painting and throwing cards, again and again. But I failed every single ti with the instinctual infusion.”
He laughed sheepishly.
“Don’t worry, girl. I might’ve forgotten to ntion… I didn’t succeed on my first try either. Or my fiftieth. It took closer to a hundred.”
“You’re kidding? I thought I just sucked at this.”
He laughed again. At least I had a few attempts behind already.
“I apologize. I’ll try to be more precise next ti. If that’s all, I’m going back to sleep, okay?”
“Yeah, sure. Sorry again.”
He hung up.
Damn.
So there was nothing wrong with . That ant only one thing, I had to push harder.
Right then and there, I decided: from now on, I’d start every day I could in the Domain. I’d begin with a ditation on the steel card, then move into throwing practice.
It was 6 a.m. Everyone else was still asleep. Even Peter had stopped his morning runs since getting together with Zoe and now that it was colder.
I did my morning routine, dressed warmly and jumped into my Domain with another easel in hand. I quickly painted a bullseye onto a canvas and set it in place, giving myself a proper target.
And then I began the first of what would likely be many morning sessions: quiet floor ditation followed by rigorous card throws and attempts at authority infusion.
When my phone buzzed with the 8 o’clock alarm, I stopped. I packed the cards and returned to Earth.
From now on, I would keep them close. If my authority stirred again, especially during art lessons or any creative spark, I wanted to be ready to act.
No delay. No hesitation.
It’s Monday, which ant today’s lectures were Art Theory & Philosophy, Experintal Drawing and Digital dia for Artists.
I start early, just fifteen minutes from now, but that doesn’t matter much to anymore, does it?
**********
Art Theory & Philosophy opened the day and the topic was “aesthetics as perception versus aesthetics as communication.” The professor paced in front of us like a philosopher, quoting Kant, Sontag and so guy whose na sounded like soone choking on a cough drop. We were supposed to debate whether beauty was sothing objective and universal, or entirely personal, a projection of our inner selves. I didn’t speak out loud, but in my head, I answered every question. It’s a conversation I’ve had with my friends more tis than I can count.
Art is many things. Art is a language, yes, but it’s also a mirror. And sotis… it’s a door.
As the lecture rolled on, my thoughts drifted to my own work, how my paintings were starting to do more than express. They were acting. Responding. Obeying. I scribbled notes in the margins of my notebook, letting my pen drift like a whisper:
What does art beco when it obeys?
Was it still beautiful if it beca useful? Did intention dilute inspiration? Was I losing sothing vital when I started reproducing effects deliberately, rather than chasing mystery? And yet, not everything I made was utilitarian, Noxy was still a one-of-a-kind. Ella too. And now, the armor. Usagear, I called it in my head. My secret, growing shape.
After class ended, I slipped away to the aquatic center. I knew Peter would be swimming this early. Watching him in his elent brought back to myself. There was sothing grounding about it, the precision of each stroke, the way the water curved around him like it respected him. I sat high up on the bleachers, far enough that I could be invisible, but close enough to feel the rhythm of the pool, like a second heartbeat.
As I watched, my thoughts turned toward the evening. Penrose was supposed to et with De Marco, sothing that could change everything… or absolutely nothing. There was also the possibility of another lesson with Shiroi, if he decided to show. I hoped he would. I had a new set of questions prepared, carefully veiled, of course. I couldn’t reveal exactly what I was working on, but I needed his guidance to push my armor’s developnt forward. Sotis you have to lead a ntor toward your truth without ever naming it aloud, especially if said ntor can end your life with one touch.
**********
Experintal Drawing ca next. Today’s instruction was blunt: don’t aim for realism. The the was “form through failure.” We were told to draw without looking at our hands or the paper, using long sticks with brittle charcoal tied at the end with fraying twine. The professor called it “breaking the illusion of control.” Most students groaned, laughed awkwardly or hesitated.
I didn’t mind. I’ve grown used to working in the in-between, between precision and chaos, between knowing and not. There’s sothing brutally honest in not being able to correct yourself. No editing. No second guesses. Just motion.
My drawings ca out as sharp slashes and sudden curves, a web of motion that looked more like a struggle than a figure. But maybe that was the point. Not every creation is supposed to behave.
About halfway through, the light of my authority returned. I didn’t suppress it. I let it hum softly around my wrist, then spiral down the stick in my hand. It moved like dew sliding down a blade of grass, catching every color imaginable. It shimred faintly in the air, alive, but reserved.
I glanced around to see if anyone noticed. No one did. Most were too focused on their own awkward marks and broken charcoal stubs. Sleepers, all of them, for now.
While they wiped smudges off their hands, I reached into my bag and ran my fingers across the edge of a card. Just one. I didn’t throw it, not here, not now, but I felt for it, as if my authority might leap toward the connection.
It didn’t.
Not yet.
The card remained itself. Dormant. Being just what it’s always been.
**********
“Why are you so angry?” I asked Zoe, who was standing outside the entrance to the dining hall. If I didn’t know her better, I’d swear she was almost flouncing. Her movents were exaggerated, impatient. She was staring off sowhere into the distance.
“Oh, hello Alexa. I didn’t see you coming.” She took a deep breath. “I’m just hungry.”
“Well, you’re standing right outside the dining hall.”
“Yes, waiting for Elena to bring sothing to go. But she’s taking her ti.”
“She always does. She probably ran into soone and started talking about whatever show she’s watching right now. You should’ve asked Hannah instead.”
“Yes,” Zoe said flatly. “I can see how that was a mistake.”
“How did you even convince her to go in the first place?” I asked. Elena always needed motive and aning behind everything to satisfy her mind.
“I told her I had an upset stomach and that all the slls inside made dizzy.”
Oh my god. Is it really happening?
“Are you pregnant, Zoe?” I asked bluntly.
“Are you crazy? We always use protection.”
“Well, then I don’t get it. Why don’t you just go in there yourself? Is this so kind of power move?” I added, half-joking.
“Open the door and see for yourself,” she said simply.
I hesitated for a second but indulged her and pushed one of the big double doors open. I looked past the hallway toward the inner doors leading into the dining area.
There it was, perfectly suspended at the entrance, a translucent, cracked sphere. Light was being pulled into the jagged fractures along its surface. A portal. An Ideworld breach, hovering right where students normally walked in with their trays and morning chatter.
“Do you get it now?” Zoe asked from behind .
And yeah, I did. Any Sleeper could move through a portal like that without noticing. But people like or Zoe? We’d be sucked in the mont we crossed that threshold. Pulled into the Ideworld, just like that. It was basically barring us from entering the one place we really needed to go.
“This sucks,” I finally said. “I was supposed to et Jason in there.”
“Well, I skipped breakfast and hoped to eat it in there,” Zoe muttered.
I pulled out my phone and ssaged Jason:
"Hey, not feeling well. Got an upset stomach like Zoe. Can we et outside instead?"
If it worked for her, it might as well work for too.
“Has it happened to you before?” I asked Zoe as I waited for Jason to reply to my ssage.
“Only once,” she said, eyes still fixed on the shimring portal near the dining hall doors. “I was eleven, maybe twelve. It spawned right at the entrance to my apartnt building. I ended up waiting outside for five hours while my poor excuse of a father was inside, having himself a libation.”
“What did you do?”
“I gave up eventually and walked to the clinic where my mom worked. Sat in the lobby until her shift ended.”
“Well… at least you had soone who understood the situation.”
“True,” she said, her voice a little softer.
“Did your dad know about all this? About magic and the Ideworld?”
“Oh, he knew.” Her tone hardened. “He said it was the reason he started drinking. But the truth is, he was just a sick, weak man.”
“Was?” I asked, cautious. “Is he dead now?”
“I don’t know. Might as well be.”
Harsh words, but I understood the frustration behind them. That feeling of being left alone by soone who should have stood by you, who should have gotten it.
Before I could say anything more, Jason arrived in person instead of replying to my ssage. His grin was wide, unbothered by the charged air he’d just walked into.
“Hello, girls,” he said cheerfully. “I hear both of you have upset stomachs. Was there a party I wasn’t invited to?”
“No,” I said, smirking. “Just a coincidence.”
Zoe narrowed her eyes slightly. “How do you know about my situation? Is Elena telling everyone instead of, I don’t know, actually getting my food?”
“Oh, about that,” Jason said, reaching into his bag. He pulled out a neatly packed container and handed it to her. “She wasn’t talking to everyone, just a select few. You know how she is. Her mouth moves faster than her brain, but she doesn’t an any harm, Zoe.”
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“I know,” Zoe muttered. “I’m just hungry.” She took the container, then added, “Thanks, Jason. I’m gonna go eat this in peace.”
We waved her off as she walked away, finally at ease with food in hand.
I turned to Jason. “So, what was it you wanted to talk about, man?”
He looked at like I’d just stabbed him through the heart with a paintbrush.
“Oh, Lexy,” he sighed, dramatically clutching his chest. “Not even a nice to see you, or an I missed you? And man? That’s hardly the noun I want to be called by soone I’m dating.”
“Lexy?” I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t call that. It sounds so infantile. And how could I miss you? I saw you two days ago.”
I knew how to be a girlfriend. I’d been trained for it, in ways subtle and not so subtle. I knew which words pushed which buttons. But I didn’t want to play gas with Jason. Not because I owed him honesty, maybe I did, maybe I didn’t, but because pretending would’ve just made feel like a liar. And I wasn’t sure yet if it was nice to see him. He was still kind of obnoxious.
“Well, I for one missed that.” He gestured toward like he was unveiling a masterpiece. “Your blunt-force charm. Honestly, it was the only reason I wanted to et up.”
“You could’ve just called, then. I do know how to answer a phone. And as you can see, I survived getting ho on my own.”
“Ohhhh,” he said, dragging it out like a realization. “So this is about the Uber thing, isn’t it?”
Was it? I didn’t think so. I hadn’t been angry. Just… irritated. I wasn’t used to people trying to take care of without an ulterior motive.
“I just ant,” I said calmly, “that not everything will change just because I decided to let you be my boyfriend. So things will. Most things won’t.”
“You decided, huh? I had no say in it?”
“Well, you did conveniently appear in all the right places at all the right tis. That wasn’t an accident, was it?”
“Touché,” he admitted. “But I didn’t plan to get information when I called Peter. He just ntioned your party. Then I called Elena, just to check in. You know she needs soone to talk to now and then.”
So it was Elena. Should’ve guessed.
“Are you jealous I talk to other girls?” he added, smirking.
The ego on this man. Astral-sized.
“I’m not jealous, Jason. Let’s walk and talk.”
We moved toward the fountain at the heart of campus, the one circled by worn stone benches and little flares of red and yellow leaves. Groundskeepers had swept them into neat, fiery mounds that looked like offerings.
“Then why do you seem angry?” he asked. “What did I do wrong?”
“Why would you assu you did sothing wrong? If I were angry, which I’m not, it could be about a thousand different things.”
“I ask because if I did ss up, I want to do better next ti. It’s hard to see my own blind spots. And if it’s not about , you can still talk to . If you want.”
“Well, nothing’s ever stopped from pointing out what you suck at,” I said with a half-smile. “As for talking… look, Jason. I don’t really know how to do this thing between us. I used to think of you as just a brat. But you’ve shown there’s more to you than that. That’s why I’m giving this a chance. But don’t expect a personality transplant overnight. I already have confidants, people who’ve earned my trust over years. If sothing’s bothering , I’ll probably go to them first.”
He tilted his head. “Then what do you need for?”
Good question. One I didn’t have a perfect answer to.
“I don’t know. It wasn’t a calculated decision. You said you liked for being , so I guess… I’m just being . Still works for you?”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “It does.”
“Good. Then just keep being yourself. Like you were on Saturday. But don’t expect to fall at your feet over every small gesture. I do want to get to know you better, though. So let’s focus on that.”
He nodded. “That… works for .”
I glanced at him. “What do you do when you’re angry?”
He blinked, surprised by the question. “I don’t get angry often. If anything, I get frustrated or… sad. I don’t lash out.”
“So you carry it? No release?”
“Well, I box. There’s a club I go to when I need to get it out of my system. Hitting a bag or sparring helps. But it’s not exactly a date spot.”
“Why not?” I grinned. “You can’t be that bad.”
He looked at , then laughed. “You’d go with ?”
“You’d have the chance to throw punches at without consequences. Isn’t that every man’s dream?”
“You’d fight ?”
“I’d spar with you. I may be smaller, but I’m fast. What do you say?”
“Sounds good,” he said, smiling now. “When?”
“Tomorrow evening should work. I’ll let you know if sothing cos up.”
“Does it often?”
“Sotis. I’m busy. In fact, right now, I should be heading to my next lecture. Totally forgot about it.”
He looked smug. “Then I’ll count this as a win. I distracted Alexa from her academic obligations.”
“One point for Jason,” I said, backing away. “See you later.”
“Have fun, Lexy.”
Lexy again. And he had the audacity to say he’d learn from his mistakes. But he looked stupidly cute when he said it, so I let it slide. Just this once.
**********
Digital dia for Artists ca last on today’s roster. Tucked inside a too-warm computer lab where the overhead lights buzzed like thoughts you couldn’t quite shake, we dove into the basics, file formats, blending modes, layering techniques. The kind of stuff most people tuned out of. But not . The clean, sterile logic of digital tools felt like a relief. No ink stains. No paper warping under water. Just smooth control, or the illusion of it.
I started mocking up a potential card design, sothing abstract. Swirling lines curving into sharp points. It hinted at wind and montum. Maybe it was a reflection of how I saw Soulmark: sleek, fast, impossible to pin down. I wondered how it would evolve, if it could. It already felt like the apex of itself.
Maybe it wasn’t about power. Maybe I’d hit a ceiling, not of strength, but of control.
I called out to Anansi in thought:
[You are at 9%. You need 91% more essence of Authority to initiate growth.]
Not bad. Steady. Maybe slow, but not stagnant. I’d earn the rest. I just had to keep working, keep throwing, keep painting.
Every failure fed the climb.
**********
I was waiting outside Ken Kuromaru’s studio as people began gathering, mostly the sa group from last week. No one ntioned him being late, so I assud he’d show up and that Mr. Penrose would get the necessary intel.
I had co prepared. A whole list of questions I hadn’t found satisfying answers to online, all about sewing and costu design. I didn’t know how long I’d have access to Shiroi, but I intended to squeeze out every drop of knowledge I could.
I sat in the sa spot I’d been given last ti. When he entered, I quickly sent a final confirmation to Penrose, then turned my attention fully to the lesson.
He started with basic layering today. Explained it well, probably impressive for most people in the room, but I was way past that by now. My talent, previous experience with fabric and countless hours of online tutorials had already carried further. I needed more.
When he gave the class its assignnt, I stood and walked over to him. His hair had started to grow back and he now wore a neat black stubble that made him look even sharper.
“Excuse ,” I said, “but I was wondering if I could ask you for sothing more advanced.”
He raised an eyebrow, then stood up to et my eyes.
“Of course,” he said, intrigued. “I’m always eager to spread more knowledge.”
And death, I added in my mind.
“What is it, Alexandra?”
“I’ve prepared a list of things I’m struggling with. I’m working on a suit for cosplay and I’m lacking in a few techniques.”
I handed him the paper. It included:
-How to machine-sew stretch and rigid materials together without distortion
-Stabilizer and interfacing techniques based on fabric weight
-Foot choice (walking foot, Teflon) and correct tension settings
-Tailoring curved panels around joints without gaping or wrinkling
-Installing gussets and hidden expansion points
-Attaching mods to premade shoes or building boot covers that don’t slip during movent
-Safely bonding materials to active footwear like sh or rubber
His eyes scanned the list. With each line, his smile grew wider.
“These are advanced topics,” he said. “I’m not sure I can cover them all in the ti we have for today’s class.”
“I’m happy to absorb whatever you can give, or even pay you for private lessons.”
“I don’t do one-on-one lessons,” he replied. Then his tone shifted, thoughtful. “But let’s do sothing else. You’re the first student who’s really piqued my interest. Let’s start at the end of your list. I’ll give you an old pair of shoes I’ve got lying around, answer your questions related to them and then assign you a task. If you complete it today, we can talk about continuing. Possibly—privately. Deal?”
“Would that be a date?” I asked, pouring flirtation into my voice.
He was interested, I could see it. He wasn’t just drawn to how I looked, but also to my hunger to master his field. That was rare.
“I think that would be inappropriate,” he said, too quickly. But the glint in his eyes betrayed him. “Still—I’d like to et under those conditions anyway.”
I nodded and he launched into a lesson on modifying footwear, how to properly stitch onto boots, which adhesives failed under stress, how to avoid seams ripping mid-movent and how to work around the natural limitations of modified footwear. He listed best tools, compatible materials and techniques for reinforcent.
I got to work imdiately.
Just forty minutes later, I brought him the modded shoes. They weren’t perfect, but they were good. Good enough, I was sure, to earn his approval.
“You’re very talented,” he said, inspecting the work. “For soone just learning these thods, you’ve exceeded my expectations.”
“Thank you,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. “So, when can we et privately, Mr. Kuromaru?”
“Call Ken,” he replied smoothly. “I’m free Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings.”
“How about tonight?”
He blinked, surprised by my eagerness. Around us, the room had shifted, whispers, glances, the subtle discomfort of students noticing he was giving special attention. He caught it too.
“I think that can work,” he said in a hushed voice.
Then he scribbled sothing on a scrap of paper and handed it to . “My address. I’ve got everything we’ll need for tonight. Eight or nine?”
“Nine is perfect,” I said with a soft smile.
As he walked away, I tucked the note into my pocket.
Today was a win, on two fronts.
I’d secured a teacher and the private address of a killer hunting my team.
**********
When the lesson ended, I took the first opportunity to teleport ho. Shiroi lived around forty minutes away by train, an hour by cab or Uber. Since it was just a few minutes past seven, I had more than an hour of free ti. I figured I’d use it to eat.
That’s when I got the ssage.
A cryptic one-word text from Thomas.
“Camper.”
On both my normal and work phones.
Fuck. So much for free ti.
Sothing had gone wrong at Penrose’s eting. If Thomas didn’t have ti to type more than a single word, I didn’t have ti to get properly ready.
I grabbed the Usagi mask and pulled it on, threw on my Iceberg Jacket, clipped the Travel Grimoire to my belt by the chain I’d attached earlier today. I grabbed Noxy from under the bed, Ella from the stand and with one touch of the Grimoire, I chose the camper as my destination.
The world shifted,—
—and I appeared inside a moving car, montum throwing like a ragdoll.
Thomas was there. He caught before I slamd into anything.
We were moving fast. And we were definitely being shot at.
I scanned the interior of the camper before anyone could speak. Thomas held , obviously. On the floor was Johny, I thought, military dic, part of Penrose’s personal eting detail. He was crouched beside Penrose, who lay unconscious, a gaping wound in his side and a growing pool of blood beneath him.
“You’re here. Good,” Thomas said as I took it all in. “Can you get Phillip to a hospital? Johny says he won’t make it to the safehouse, though Ramirez is doing his best.”
Ramirez. Penrose’s best driver. If he was behind the wheel and Thomas was in the car, that ant shit had gone very, very wrong.
I handed Ella to Thomas and pushed my mask up onto the top of my head.
“Hold this,” I said, then dropped to my knees beside Penrose.
“Hello, Johny. Long ti no see.”
“Yeah. Thomas says you’re the miracle I told him we’d need if he was gonna survive.”
“Apparently. Now move aside. Let touch him.”
He did. I placed my hand on Penrose and thought of ho. The Travel Grimoire responded instantly.
The world twisted again and I landed in my room, Penrose beside .
I grabbed the soup I’d picked up from Lebens, hoping it was as miraculous as advertised. I held Penrose upright, opened his mouth and slowly poured it in, making sure he could swallow.
I set aside what remained, laid him flat and rushed to the bathroom. Warm water. Clean cloth.
Back again, I wiped away the blood.
The wound beneath it was healed.
Good. It worked.
He was breathing too.
But I didn’t have ti to wait for him to wake up on his own, not while the rest of his team was being hunted down.
So I did sothing I’d dread about doing when I was a kid.
I slapped him. Hard.
He jolted awake, eyes darting around, trying to process everything.
He saw first. That cald him. Then he checked his side.
“Alexandra? What happened?”
“Fuck if I know,” I said. “You’re in my ho. I’m needed elsewhere. Please stay here as long as you can, alright?”
He nodded, rubbing his cheek.
Oh, damn, he felt that. Good. He deserved it.
I touched the Grimoire again and jumped back into the camper. This ti, I landed steady, legs wide, catching myself on the railing the second I arrived.
“That quickly?” Thomas asked. “You have an anchor in a hospital after all?”
“No, but he’s fine.” I’d need to think about anchoring myself to so hospital mory later. “He’ll live. Can you explain what the fuck happened here? Why are we escaping in the camper of all cars?”
“I brought it just in case. For you.” He glanced at . “Parked it off to the side from the rest of our cars. Good call, too, those were sabotaged. Sanchez, Bobby and Big Jolly are dead, Lex. Shot down in a firefight with De Marco’s crew. So of them are down too, but they’re tailing us.”
“Where are we now? Do you need to portal everyone out?”
“Not yet. Ramirez is headed for the woods. Plan is to block the narrow bridge up ahead with this beast and unleash hell when they try to follow.”
“What happened during the eting?”
“Phillip went into the terminal with De Marco—smart—since it’s harder to smuggle in weapons at an airport. He took , De Marco brought one guy. That was the deal. No extras. The rest of our detail stayed behind in the cars. They talked for a while, an hour, maybe, then De Marco suddenly pulled a knife or shiv and stabbed Penrose in the gut. Like you saw. I tackled him, but his guy tackled . We fought for a bit, but I let him go when bystanders started screaming about security. They slipped away. I got Penrose on his feet and we headed back to the cars… but they were already under attack.”
“So you brought him into the camper.”
“Yeah. Ramirez and Johny t us here. The others stayed to provide cover… and were cut down by machine guns. We've been running ever since.”
“This can is bulletproof now?” I asked.
“Now?” Thomas grinned darkly. “It was the first upgrade I made. Along with a better engine and steering. It might look like a camper, but it’s a tank.”
“It also fucking drives like one!” Ramirez shouted from the front.
“Shut up, man,” Thomas muttered.
“Hello, Ramirez,” I said.
“How long until we hit the fighting point?” I asked.
“You’re fighting with us?” Johny asked, blinking.
Well, since I’m apparently kind of bulletproof now, I might as well.
“Yes. I’ll stay and help.”
“We’ll be there in four minutes. Tops.”
“They still following us? I can’t hear gunfire anymore.”
“They are,” Ramirez confird. “Stopped shooting, though. Must’ve figured out it’s useless.”
I pulled the mask back over my face and took Ella from Thomas.
“What the fuck do you need an umbrella for?” Johny asked.
I opened it and infused it with my authority. It shimred faintly as it hardened into a shield. I twirled it once in my hand smiling.
“You’ll see in less than four minutes. Teleportation isn’t my only miracle.”
I smiled at Johny. He just stared, dead serious, Reality still trying its best to cover the fact I’d appeared out of thin air.
“Thomas,” I said, weighing Equinox in my palm, “do you think you could handle a shot from a handheld railgun?”
He looked at the weapon, sleek, painted like a futuristic prop. Then at .
“I don’t know. I could try.”
I nodded and infused it with authority, asking it to beco Noxy again. It shimred, briefly but intensely, with the light of a thousand colors.
I handed it to him.
“Word of advice: this thing hits harder than anything you’ve fired before. Brace properly. Fire once at their car, when we stop. No more. Please, no more than one shot. Got it?”
Thomas nodded, jaw clenched.
“If it breaks you, I’ll heal you later. Just don’t play the hero, crawl to safety.”
“Are you fucking serious?” Ramirez shouted from the front, catching our exchange in the rearview mirror. “That pistol can break Thomas Torque? Fuck if I believe that.”
I ignored him.
“Promise , Thomas.”
“I promise.”
I took my deck of cards out of my bag, shuffled them once, then again and slid them back into the box.
Damn.
I was ready.
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